The Indignity of Farm Fresh Spies
by Questioning.Silence
Summary: Everyone knows that new CIA agents don't come out of thin air. At first, they have no idea what to do. So, when Joan gets a bunch of new operatives at the DPD, she is NOT in for a pleasant day. Arthur, Annie, Auggie, Reva, and Jai also make appearances.
1. Chapter 1

_I've watched Covert Affairs since the pilot episode, yet this is the first time I've had the courage to post anything about the show. Lame._

Disclaimer: Um, this is _fanfiction. _A disclaimer saying I don't own anything seems like a moot point.

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><p>Eggs were pretty much the only thing that Joan Campbell liked fresh from the farm. Farm-fresh people somehow never sounded quite as good. And farm-fresh spies… well, that was usually a disaster in the making.<p>

Annie had perhaps been okay. She was slightly too eager to please at times, certainly inexperienced, and a little impulsive. But all these could be fixed. Actually, most new recruits shared those characteristics, and perhaps they wouldn't bother Joan so very badly if they had the decency to string out their arrivals at headquarters over a longer period of time. In fact, the entire agency would be much better off if they just trickled the new recruits in, one every week or so. Or maybe once a month. A month would probably be better.

But no. Of course her bosses wouldn't be so considerate. They just dumped the entire batch of newly-hatched spies upon the heads of their veteran employees with barely a warning.

And then came the process of dividing them all up. Ten to the department of technology, a couple to support stations, several dozen overseas, one or two to aid the higher-ups, about eight new analysts, and oh, Joan, how would you like a few new faces in your department? And she, oh, no thank you; we're getting along nicely now. But then, of course, the ubiquitous response, I insist.

And just like that, she was the maternal figure to half a dozen baby chicks with no idea what they were doing. Not to mention that she, for about two days, along with everyone else, would have to dodge bewildered, lost-looking individuals searching frantically for their work stations, the bathroom, and their respective bosses' offices to which they were supposed to report five minutes ago.

The majority, of course, couldn't bear to ask for directions. The others would be dying to stop and beg instructions from the nearest manila-folder carrying and slacks-wearing individual who looked like they knew what was going on, but were too afraid of the reprimand they might receive. This was, after all, the CIA. The theory being, of course, that if they couldn't find their own job in a single building, they'd have no hope of finding viable intelligence in a foreign country. This was absolutely ridiculous, but no one ever did ask for directions.

Although, she reflected thoughtfully, she'd probably send them packing if they did ever ask her. So maybe they had a point. Perhaps they could offer an orientation of sorts. College all over again.

Then came Phase Two of working at the CIA. The confidence. The I-figured-out-how-to-get-around-this-big-bad-agency-all-on-my-own-so-nothing-can-stop-me-now kind of confidence. And that usually lasted for a week or so, until they realized that the CIA life was nothing like the glamorized glory and adrenaline of the movies. Or until they failed an assignment or two.

Then came the Deciding Phase, the phase in which morals were reevaluated, in which faith, ideals, and ethics codes were examined and some serious soul-searching was done. Fully half of the new recruits would leave in fewer than five years with an interesting empty spot on their resume that was difficult to explain away. The rest stayed because they learned to live with their job, the pain and the rewards and the ambiguity alike.

Joan supposed that they nearly all had gone through this almost ritual hazing ceremony by now, some faster than others. Maybe she shouldn't judge them all so harshly.

She stepped out of her office, eyeing her people scurrying busily around. The new ones stuck out like sore thumbs. There was one, an average looking brunette woman in her 30s, standing awkwardly by Jai's elbow, listening intently, and the other—a rather attractive 20-something year old male, if the glances snuck at him by her female employees were anything to go by—was tucking into some paperwork with gusto. That wouldn't last long at all.

There would be several more new ones in this room by the end of the day; that was certain. Arthur had spoken of expanding her department, given the ever-rising level of internal issue and more prominent face of the agency. There was also the fact that she had avoided the last two batches and was being repaid this year by six new recruits. Six.

Joan decided she deserved a cup of over-priced coffee to put up with this mess. She headed up the stairs and out of her department towards Starbucks. Walking to the edge of the upstairs railing, she stifled a groan at the mass of people clogging up the walkways. Some idiot had also decided that today was a good day to test the security alarms at the outbuildings and training facilities, giving the hundred or so odd employees who typically worked in said buildings nothing to do and nowhere to be for about an hour.

"This is absolutely ridiculous," she heard a woman's voice, low and scolding, from over her left shoulder, "Just ASK someone!"

Joan turned slightly to see two obvious first-day recruits arguing behind her.

The other, a stressed-looking man, shook his head. "I'm not gonna ask!" he hissed.

The woman rolled her eyes and shook her head, her black curls bouncing around her face. "Fine." She turned. "Excuse me?"

It took Joan a moment to realize that the woman was addressing her. "Yes?" she asked, drawing out the word slightly and rather uninvitingly.

"Could you please tell me where I can find the…" she glanced briefly down at the sheet of paper she held, "Domestic Protection Division?"

Joan eyed her with wary amusement. Either this woman was bold and practical or just plain lazy. "And why do you need to know?" she tested.

"We're assigned to that department."

No kidding. "And you're lost?"

The woman's eyes narrowed slightly and the man beside her stared determinedly at his feet as if he might find a map pasted to the tops of his shoes. "We've been looking, ma'am, but we need to meet with DPD Director Joan Campbell there in five minutes and I'd really rather not be late. If you could point us in the relative direction, we'd be grateful," she maintained a polite tone but couldn't hide the irritated edge in her voice.

Bold and practical was the answer, it seemed. Apparently Arthur hadn't sent her only duds.

Joan motioned over her shoulder, "Those stairs will lead you right to the department. But the Director just left, so you may have to wait a few minutes anyway." She nodded at the two of them and headed on her way, not bothering to look back.

She glanced down at the court below her, blinked at the length of the line for Starbucks, and decided to forego the coffee run. Instead, she walked over to her husband's office.

Arthur's secretary smiled at Joan as she entered the room outside his office. "It'll just be a moment; he's in a meeting that's almost over."

She nodded and took a seat, crossing her legs and flipping through the personnel file of one of her new operatives. A minute later, Arthur's door opened and a man came out.

"How'd it go?" another man sitting in a chair a few feet away from Joan asked him.

"Uh… okay, I guess." He took a seat beside the other man. "They worked out the file mix-up. I'm now working for…" he eyed the paper in his hands, "Director Campbell in the DPD. Think he's related to Arthur Campbell?"

Joan knew that, statistically, the national agencies had a far higher percentage of male directors than female ones. It was still annoying.

The other, a blonde man in a navy suit, snickered softly, "You might as well quit now, Brad. That's _Joan _Campbell. Meanest agent in the entire building. You make a tiny mistake and you're done. Forever. She'll hang you out to dry. She doesn't like _anybody_, including her husband." He nodded slyly towards the door that his friend recently exited from.

"The DCS? Arthur Campbell? They're _married_?"

He nodded smugly.

"Isn't that, like, nepotism or something?"

"Apparently not," he said with a raised eyebrow and casual shrug of his shoulders.

No, Joan decided firmly. She had been mistaken earlier, to think that new employees should maybe be cut some slack, because she'd forgotten one of the worst parts about them: the gossip. The endless gossip, comparing of notes, bosses, salaries, perks, bonuses, assignments… the list was never-ending. They wouldn't learn for months the importance of keeping one's mouth firmly shut.

For the sake of her sanity, new recruits' arrivals really needed to be staged strategically throughout the year.

The gossipy blonde man—and Joan wondered why it was only women that got a bad rep for spreading rumors—glanced around and spotted her. She was still staring straight down at her file, but his quick head turn wasn't difficult to see in her peripheral vision.

"Hey!" he hissed in a whisper that was not quite soft enough, "Brad. See the blonde woman to your right?"

Brad, with a casualness that was painful, eyed Joan. "Yeah?"

"Rumor is, she's having an affair with the DCS."

Brad risked another glance. "Says who?"

"Three of my buddies from the Farm told me."

"How'd you recognize her?"

"Dunno how they knew. They said a woman with bright blond hair in her forties who usually wears dresses. Can't be too many like that here."

"Nah… She's too pretty to be with him."

"Hey, some women'll do anything for power and money."

"You think he's paying her? You think his wife knows?"

The door swung open and Arthur appeared, "I was just about to call you."

Joan ignored the wink from the blonde man to Brad.

Arthur motioned her into his office and shut the door behind them. "I wanted to ask if you could take one more new one on at the DPD."

"The one out there?" she asked wryly, leaning back against his desk. "Because you owe me if I do."

"And why is that?" he smiled, coming up beside her.

"I'm already going crazy with the amount I already have," she said, putting her head on his shoulder. "They're ambitious, gossipy wannabe spies. What more reason do I need?"

"We all were, once," he reminded her.

"No," she replied seriously, "You may have been, but I never was."

He tipped her face up and kissed her. "I'll take that as a 'yes,' then."

"Fine," She shook her head, "But I was listening to them before I came in here. They've somehow got me confused with your mistress."

Wary confusion was clear on his face. She didn't seem angry, however. "Joan…"

"Oh, I know you're not. It was apparently a Farm rumor that a woman matching my description was having an affair with you behind Joan Campbell's back."

He just stared at her.

She smiled. "Gotta love the CIA."

Arthur, no longer on his guard, wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Joan leaned into his side, "As much as I'd like to stay, I came for the other three personnel files that you promised me weeks ago."

"Ah, yes." He grabbed them from the corner of his desk. "I was gonna bribe you with these if you tried to refuse to take another recruit. Several dossiers were misfiled, or you'd have had these last month."

"So I hear." She stood up and kissed him one more time before grabbing the files and returning to the other room.

Only the blonde man remained in his chair and his friend was nowhere in sight, but as she took another step forward, Brad came dashing back in.

"I can't find any type of map in this whole building, and I was supposed to meet my boss for the first time almost _ten_ minutes ago!" he hissed to his friend.

Joan sighed and spoke up. "Just follow me. We're going to the same place." She continued to walk towards the door, not bothering to look at either of them.

"Ex_cuse_ me?" the blonde said just as Brad asked, "How do you know where I'm going?"

Joan stopped. She didn't bother to turn around, but just looked at them over her shoulder. Their identical expressions of astonishment were rather gratifying. "Because neither of you talks nearly as quietly as you think you do," she replied in a no-nonsense tone. "Coming?" she asked Brad as she began to walk forward again.

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><p><em>Comments, questions, concerns? The second and final chapter should be up sometime this week.<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_Okay, here's the second part. Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. I'm not sure why, but an inbox full of alerts and reviews from people I'll probably never even meet puts me in a very good mood._

_Hope this is up to your expectations._

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><p>Brad scuttled quickly after Joan as she wove through the still-crowded halls and down to the DPD. The two new employees that she'd spoken to earlier on the stairs were clustered in a little knot just outside her office door, along with two others. Brad joined them as they shifted nervously and impatiently, waiting for the meeting that should have begun ten minutes before.<p>

She caught various snippets of their anxious conversation as she surveyed the rest of her operatives. The 20-year-old male from earlier was now flipping slowly through his paperwork, looking thoroughly bored with the entire process. The woman whom Jai had been instructing was now seated beside her new colleague, moving slowly and steadily through her own pile of forms and papers.

This was proof, as if she'd ever needed any, that her plan of integrating new faces into the Agency would be perfect. In small amounts the little chicks—she really needed to stop the farm/chicken analogies—were fine, working away in their own little worlds.

She flipped quickly through the files she had just received, assigning names to the faces of the little group. The pretty African-American woman with bouncy black curls that had asked for directions was Sarai, the man who had been with her was Ron, the two already working were Stephanie and Omar, and the remaining two were Connor and Enrick. And, of course, Brad. Gullible, pesky little Brad.

Joan focused her attention back on the new agents just as they were joined by the blonde man from Arthur's office.

Really? Eight new people to mess up her department. Arthur owed her. And she would collect on that.

Just then Annie, seated across the room, stood up quickly, almost knocking over her chair in her haste. She glanced over and caught Joan's eye, a panicked look in her own. Joan sighed quietly as she tucked her stack of files under one arm and quickly walked over to deal with the new problem. Events this morning had thrown off her neatly outlined schedule, and she would have to play catch-up in order to fit in everything that she needed to finish.

Twenty minutes and one averted crisis later, she was returning to the pathway outside her office where the group still waited when Jai's low voice cut across the room.

"Actually," she was not surprised to see he was addressing the new blonde recruit, "you're one of the few people in the room that _doesn't_ have anything better to do right now than stand there and wait for Joan to have time to meet you. Everyone else here," he gestured in a circle around the room, "has better things to do than listen to you complain, as I have for the past fifteen minutes."

Jai calmly returned to his computer as the other man—Kevin, she knew now from a sticky note in Brad's file—stared at him with his mouth open. Only those within a ten foot radius or so had heard Jai's comment, yet the he flushed with embarrassment. Joan felt a reluctant twinge of pity for the new operative with the big mouth. He was just a boy, really, eager and nervous and hoping to make a good impression at the Agency. Not like she'd ever cut him an inch of slack for it, however.

While Joan's unwilling compassionate twinge was still making itself known, she reached the short flight of steps and faced the group. "Let those be your first two lessons at the CIA," she spoke in a neutral tone, "One: things rarely, if ever, go as planned. Adapt or die."

Perhaps "die" was overdramtic, but they hung on her every word, wide-eyed and desperate, with their files clutched to their chests.

"Two: you made it through the farm, while most people never make it through the application process. Congratulations; you've passed the easy part. Now is the time to prove yourselves, if you so desire, and quick-thinking and actions will take you much farther than complaints."

Kevin scowled at her second comment, taking it as a personal rebuke. In a way it truly was directed at him, she supposed, but he'd walked himself into the mess.

"Well she talks big," he muttered to Brad.

Joan didn't hear what was said, but the tone was unmistakable. She raised an eyebrow, but let the remark slide and turned to open her office door to begin their long-overdue meeting.

"She thinks she's so important just because she's having an affair with the DCS," he continued, this time loud enough for their entire group to hear.

That did it.

"If you have a problem with me, why don't you take it up with Arthur?" she turned around and spoke in a conversational tone. "I'm sure he'd love to hear that his 'mistress'" she injected the single word with scorn, "isn't treating you with the proper respect."

Reva, who was collaborating with Auggie on a surveillance project that day, happened to be close enough to have heard both comments. She had also, unfortunately, taken a sip of coffee at just the wrong moment. She began coughing violently, leaning forward with her hands on her knees as she struggled to breathe.

As the rest of the room turned to look at the spectacle, Joan pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. Her department had turned into a circus. She should have known better than to add fuel to the fire.

Thoroughly irritated and wanting to go home and forget about the whole day, even though it was only ten o'clock, Joan unlocked her door, "Let's just get this meeting over with. Then feel free to make as big an idiot of yourself as you'd like."

They followed her mutely through the doorway.

Sarai was the first to speak. "You're Joan Campbell?"

Joan eyed her as she walked behind her desk, "Yes," she replied evenly, not deigning to look at Kevin, "I'm Joan Campbell." She slid the files into a filing cabinet drawer, and then glanced at the array of people standing awkwardly before her with varied expressions of astonishment. Brad opened and closed his mouth several times, looking like a fish gasping for air, while several of the others struggled to keep composure. Another man glanced over at Kevin and winced.

This all seemed so hopeless. Perhaps a bit of background before they crashed and burned…

"The DPD consists of approximately 500 agents, serving throughout the United States and in temporary positions overseas. We have three other stations located across the North American continent, and they all report here to me." She eyed them all thoughtfully, "I only tell you this so that you understand the importance of diplomacy and subtlety within and beyond this department.

"A federal mandate forbids the CIA from working here in the United States. The DPD," she hesitated for a moment with the phrasing of her next sentence, "is careful," she finished. "We work closely with the State Department, internal agencies, Homeland Security, etc. In other words, _don't screw things up,_" she said flatly. "Our grasp on legality is tenuous, at best. However, this division has uncovered hundreds of anti-American plots and has saved dozens of lives in the few years that it has existed. We wish to continue. Be diplomatic, keep your mouth shut about our operations even amongst fellow operatives, and _do what you're told_. At the first sign of trouble, the Senate Oversight Committee will hang us."

This was sheer hypocrisy coming from her, she supposed. Diplomacy wasn't exactly her best quality and there were a rather extensive number of times in which she hadn't done as she was told.

Still. They were young. They would have plenty of time later to learn when to push and when to back off. And when to run away screaming.

They all looked suitably impressed by her little monologue, with the exception of the sulky blonde. This little arrangement really wasn't going to work unless he received a serious attitude adjustment.

"A couple ground rules: Defer to senior agents at first, but don't be afraid to mention a topic if you feel it's being overlooked. _Don't_ involve civilians. Ever. Your chain of command starts with the agent in charge of the operation, then me, then the DCS, then the DNI. Don't try to skip a step unless it's important. And trust me, you'll know important when you meet it."

Maybe this was the worst part of receiving new staff—explaining obvious regulations that would be broken within hours. It was all so futile.

She stood up then and led the group out of her office. Standing at the railing, she mentally assigned experienced agents to the newcomers, pairing up each one with a mentor of sorts to aid their adjustment. Though sorely tempted to pair Kevin the Annoying with Jai, she knew better.

Conveniently enough, Auggie was talking with Annie at her desk. Joan motioned the two of them up. Annie caught her eye and they made their way over with her clinging onto Auggie's elbow to guide him.

"What are you doing right now, Annie?"

"Um, not much," she responded, "mostly translating those files you sent over…" she ended delicately, unwilling to give the group of new employees crowded around Joan any more information.

Joan nodded approvingly at the hesitation. At this point, it was better safe than sorry. "And you, Auggie?"

He was standing very still, head cocked slightly to the side, listening to the shuffling sounds of the group and realizing immediately where Joan was heading.

"Very busy," he said in a preoccupied tone.

"Auggie," she tried to prevent the smile sneaking onto her face, but couldn't keep the amusement from her voice.

"Very, very busy," he continued, with a hint of dramatized panic.

"Yes?" Joan crossed her arms.

"Incredibly busy. Earth-shaking importance. And Annie," he added abruptly, "she's busy too."

Annie stared at him, "I am?"

He rotated his wrist several times in the almost universal continue-talking-and-back-me-up sign. "Oh… Oh!" said Annie, "We are. Busy. Yes, we are. Very. Very…" she trailed off as Auggie rolled his eyes. "I don't know what more you want!" she exclaimed, laughing a little.

The operatives leaned forward for a better look at the two senior agents, stunned that they would tease the woman who seemed to have no more warmth than a blizzard. Though they pressed forward, however, they left a significant gap between themselves and Joan.

Auggie sighed and shook his head. Joan pressed her lips tightly together to keep from smiling at Auggie's comical routine and put-upon expression.

"Are you really going to do this to me, Joan?" he asked with staged despair.

"Yes, Auggie, I really am," she replied, giving up her attempts to keep a straight face and smirking slightly.

She sent the two of them off with Kevin and a couple others, and then picked several other employees that she trusted—trust being a relative term—to show the rest of the group where to work and to give them their assignments.

Then she propped her arms on the railing in front of her and leaned lightly on them as she surveyed her division.

All things considered, she was actually rather pleased with her new operatives. With one very significant and glaring exception, they seemed willing, eager, and not overly stupid.

And she supposed she ought to count her blessings. Three years ago, the last time that she'd received multiple new employees at one time, they'd very nearly created an international incident. It had taken weeks for her to smooth things over with the State Dept. and even longer to normalize relations with Fijian Intelligence.

She hadn't even known that Fiji had spies.

While she'd been content to ride out that particular storm, the DNI had personally arranged a jet to take her directly to a meeting with the head of their intelligence community. According to him, there could have been some very serious repercussions in the tourism industry. Aside from one incredulous look, she'd done her job and fixed the problem with a whole lot of insincere diplomacy and some major butt-kicking back in the DPD.

Thankfully, this time, that hadn't happened. Her division was happy and free of chaos for the moment.

And her sanity was safe, until the next year, at least.

Upon hearing an odd scuffling noise, she twisted slightly to the left to find the source of the commotion. A new operative—Enrick, if she remembered correctly—was trying very hard to open the door to the DPD by pulling on it with all of his might. Jai, also alerted by the sounds, eyed the struggling man.

Enrick glanced up and caught Jai's glance, then flushed a dull red color. With a sardonic raise of his eyebrow, Jai put up his hand and mimed pushing the door open with a quick gesture. Enrick froze, then copied Jai and succeeded in opening the door.

Joan sighed and turned to walk into her office, shaking her head. On this day next year, she would seriously consider faking the flu.

Suddenly there was a thump and crash from across the room. Joan stiffened and stood with her back to the rest of her division, seriously debating the point of even turning around. Reluctantly, she looked over her shoulder.

Stephanie's eyes were wide and her hands were clapped over her mouth as she eyed a computer monitor that lay in two separate pieces on the floor. The cord that had previously connected said monitor to a power strip was limp on the floor just beside her feet. Connor, just as wild-eyed as the female colleague he was standing beside, threw a terrified glance in Joan's direction. Upon realizing that she was watching him, he froze.

"I got it," called Annie softly, already dialing the extension number of the tech department as she spoke.

Joan nodded once sharply, then practically fled into her office, expecting to be stopped by another unfortunate happening at any moment.

If faking the flu didn't work next year, she just might find a way to purposely _give_ herself the flu.

Because frankly, that experience had to be better than being the director of the DPD on a day like today.

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><p><em>By the way, does anyone know if Fiji has spies? Dumb question, maybe?<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_I PROMISED myself I would not continue this story. And then I did. Four months after "completing" it. _

_I hate when I do things like that. _

_Will I write another chapter? I could say no, but it's obvious I can't be trusted. Probably? If people are reasonably pleased with this one._

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><p>Several hours later, Joan exited her office and leaned heavily on the railing just in front of her door, watching the workings of her division.<p>

They'd all made it through the day, mostly unscathed. She would owe Auggie for dumping Kevin on him, but the rest weren't too bad. Aside from a brief dilemma involving a missing sandwich from the refrigerator and tremendous fall-out, the day went well. Did the new recruits _really_ not realize that CIA operatives could-and would-track down food thieves?

Most of her operatives were heading for home by now, but several still worked on various projects.

Annie crossed the department floor and hurried up to Joan.

"Here. These are the last of the translated wiretaps."

Joan accepted the folder and eyed Annie thoughtfully. "Remembering your own first day?" she asked.

Annie shot her a startled glance before relaxing and hesitantly leaning on the rail beside her. "Yeah," she admitted. "I kept thinking it would all get easier with time."

"Did it?"

"No," she admitted, "Not really. I just got used to it."

"Good," Joan responded, still looking forward and around the room, "because the moment you think it's easy, you're in trouble. If it makes you feel better," she paused briefly, thinking, "If it makes you feel better, know that you've done very well so far," she finished quietly.

She didn't have to look at Annie to know that the girl was smiling. "Thank you, Joan," she replied softly.

Joan didn't respond, and the two spent a moment more just looking at the operatives before them.

There were some people, she knew, who would tell her the wisdom of the subtle compliment she had just given. They would go on and on in a pompous, tiresome tone about the importance of making alliances between a boss and their subordinates. A friendship makes it easier to manipulate someone later.

She bet than Annie knew that.

She also would bet that Annie knew that wasn't why Joan had encouraged her. And that made all the difference.

Absentmindedly, Joan put her hands on her hips and stretched slightly. The day's stress was absolutely killing her back. Could she get worker's comp for a massage? Blame the new recruits for emotional damages?

Meh. Probably not.

The thought caused the hint of a smile to flit across her face. In a moment though, it was gone, replaced again by a flinty expression as she recalled said recruits.

"Do you how Auggie handled today?" she asked.

"By 'today,' you mean Kevin?" asked Annie wryly.

Joan's lips twitched slightly upward and she nodded.

"Last time I heard, it wasn't going too badly. Apparently, Kevin really does know what he's doing when it comes to computers. And because of this, Auggie forgave him for the idiot he was earlier."

Auggie hadn't even been near her office earlier while Kevin was being his charming self. Apparently, the rumor mill was not limited to new operatives.

She found suddenly that she resented that.

"Mmm," replied Joan absently, glancing down at the files of wiretaps that Annie had just handed her. Then her face became dangerously calm. Annie, still thinking of Auggie, was smiling subconsciously and unaware of the look on Joan's face.

"Annie," said Joan then, with no trace of the previous conversation's warmth in her voice, "are you _sure_ that this is what he said?"

After a quick, startled moment, the younger operative leaned over and peered at the translation in question. Then she hesitated for a moment, biting the inside of her lip. "I… I'm not 100% sure," she admitted, "See, I put a little mark beside it to note that the transmission became a little garbled there. But do I _think_ that's what he said?" She looked Joan square in the eye, "Yes."

Joan eyed Annie levelly. "Okay then. What are you doing tonight?"

She could see Annie's shoulders droop slightly, "Well I... Uh... Nothing," she said in resignation, as another cancelled date flashed before her eyes.

"Good girl." Joan knew exactly how Annie felt—she believe it or not had been young once—but couldn't afford to be sympathetic. She turned to enter her office. "Get Auggie," she instructed, then hesitated, "And Sarai. And…" the hesitation was even longer this time, though she still didn't turn around. "And Kevin."

She could practically _feel_ Annie's eyebrows shoot up at that last request but ignored it. This was how she had earned her position as Director of the DPD. Because she knew how to work with talented people that she didn't necessarily like. And, unfortunately for her patience, Kevin was extremely talented and well-qualified.

C'est la vie.

An hour later, Annie and Sarai were en route to Dallas, TX. Auggie and Kevin were preparing the technical equipment, and Joan was already debating whether sending Sarai was a good idea.

The girls' mission was straight-forward: Enter the hotel building, photograph anyone entering between six and eight in the evening, then get the heck out of there. It had to be straight-forward, given the fact that, while their targets were not US citizens, strictly-speaking, Joan did not want to be on the receiving end of the fallout for an internal mission gone wrong.

Also, Annie was involved. Annie could complicate the simplest assignment. Granted, she was usually right, but it was still infuriating at times. And as soon as the private jet had left the launch pad at Langley, Joan had started having second thoughts. Annie was one thing. Newbie + Annie=? Joan had no interest in figuring _that_ out.

She pushed the dilemma to the back of her mind as she strode down the halls of Langley, headed for a very specific destination, and began instead to ponder the Agency's good organizational skills. Or rather lack thereof.

Joan Campbell was the head of the DPD. She had spent almost twenty years serving her country in the CIA. She had traveled the world, had some narrow escapes a half dozen times, and worked her way up the Langley ladder. She even had a relatively spacious office.

So why on earth didn't she merit her own bathroom?

With significant distaste, she reached her destination and eyed the line of baby-blue stalls, grimy tiled floor, and porcelain sinks of questionable cleanliness. It looked like a high school restroom, yet somehow grubbier.

She was going to make Arthur allocate a portion of the next "internal improvements" fund to the women's bathrooms. And, so help her, he _would_ acquiesce or he was going to greatly dislike the conditions in their home facilities until such a time that he reconsidered. She would stoop to such a level if it she deemed it necessary.

And she would _enjoy_ it.

With a sigh, she gingerly pushed open a stall with the tip of a finger, deeply regretting that the day's excessive consumption of caffeinated beverages had led her to this point. Perhaps if she'd had one or two fewer coffees, she could have made it another hour, until the end of Arthur's meeting, and simply used his bathroom as she was accustomed.

She locked the stall door behind her, and promptly froze as angry female voices echoed off the tiled walls.

"I _hate _her!" snapped a woman. Her declaration was punctuated with thumps as she stomped into the restroom.

"Careful," murmured another, then, "You shouldn't be in here."

"What are we, five-year-olds?" responded a male voice, "besides, there's no one else in here."

Joan recognized the last voice and couldn't resist rolling her eyes at the ceiling. Kevin, of all people. She would bet that the second woman was Reva, but the first voice she couldn't place.

"She's a cruel, heartless, merciless bi—"

"Shh!" Reva hissed.

"What?" the first snapped, fury giving way to exasperation, "It's not like she can hear me."

Joan now found herself in the extremely difficult position of choosing between the proverbial rock and hard place. It wasn't too hard to figure out who they were discussing. She could leave the stall now, go to the bathroom like she'd intended in the first place, or wait and hope they didn't see her.

The first option led to significant embarrassment. If she had intended to leave, she should have done so the moment they entered the room. The second was rather awkward. If she decided to utilize the available toilet, they would realize someone was there and stand around waiting until she exited the stall. The third choice made her feel absolutely foolish, like a small child hiding in a cupboard and hoping its parents didn't notice.

Option three it was then.

She felt like smacking something. Or perhaps someone.

"You don't know that, Steph," Reva warned, "this is the _CIA_," she emphasized the acronym.

"You mean she has little spies planted everywhere?" she asked, mocking, "Guess what Joan? Stephanie doesn't like you! _Gasp!_"

So it was the other new female recruit. Great. She and Kevin and Enrick and Brad were going to be the death of her yet.

Kevin snorted with laughter. "Come on, Rev. There's no way you can like her."

Reva took a deep breath and hesitated, "I…"

There was silence. "Whatever," snapped Stephanie.

Two doors swung and locks clicked as Stephanie and Reva each entered a stall. Kevin, from what she could hear, lounged against the sinks.

After a moment, Stephanie seemed to gather her thoughts and began again angrily, "And now she sent _Sarai_ of all people on an op. How stupid is that?"

No stupider than you are.

Did she really just think that?

And "op?" That girl did not merit slang jargon as of yet. She had to earn it.

"Didn't you usually beat her in training?" Kevin asked.

"Yes! Well, most of the time. And I _deserved_ to go. I can see Joan plays favorites," there was a bitter twist to that final sentence.

Joan wished she could push them mentally from the bathroom. She stood in her stall feeling like a complete idiot. Why was it that she was privy, for the _second_ time that day, to hear conversations she really didn't want to know about?

Two toilets flushed at roughly the same time, and two doors swung open. Over the sound of rushing water, there was an abrupt clang and smacking noise.

"Um…?" Reva trailed off, "And the point of that was?"

There was a muffled groan, "The floor is slippery."

"So you fell while standing still?" Reva pressed.

"Mpph," replied Kevin, irritated.

The sinks turned on, and then Stephanie's voice rang clearly throughout the room.

"She's arrogant, power-hungry—"

"Steph…"

"Shut-_up_ Reva!" snapped Kevin. "We don't care."

"—heartless, self-important… petty… spiteful…" the adjectives were spaced out, as Stephanie searched her vocabulary for more descriptions, "And she's going to die a sad, lonely, ugly old woman without…" the voices trailed off as the three left the bathroom.

Fantastic. Those were some high-quality people right there. Classy as anything you ever saw.

Joan finished up in the bathroom and left quickly, sneaking a surreptitious glance to the left and right to make certain the group hadn't stuck around.

As much as she disagreed with what they said-and hoped desperately she was right-their vivid descriptions and biting words stung. Angrily, she pushed that thought away.

Arthur. Someone had to be blamed for this mess, and she decided it really could only be him. He had dumped these wretched specimens upon her lap and happily skipped away.

Be nice! She scolded herself, repeating the phrase over and over like a mantra. She wouldn't—shouldn't—cut them any slack, but it also wouldn't do to hold grudges. They were professionals; she was a professional. It was as simple as that.

Except it really wasn't.

As she typically locked her office upon departure, she was perturbed upon her return to see that it was partially open. As she took a quick step inside, however, she relaxed. Arthur was sitting at her desk, flipping idly through a file. He looked up as she firmly shut the door behind her, answering her scowl with a smile. "That bad, huh?" he asked, standing.

She leaned against the door and rubbed her face. "Yes," she replied simply.

He walked over to her and she leaned against his chest instead as he hugged her around the shoulders. "My meeting got out early so I thought I'd see how things were coming along."

So she told him the whole story, and when she finished five minutes later, he simply stared. Then he chuckled slightly, "Don't get me wrong, but that's almost funny."

She stiffened in his arms.

"I said _don't_ get me wrong," he reminded her, "I know it must be infuriating now, but can't you see how it could be a little funny?"

"No," she replied shortly, extricating herself from his hold and turning to glare.

"Come on, Joan—"

"No, don't 'come on, Joan' me! This is _not_ funny. It's not going to end tomorrow or the next day or the next. It's just going to keep going!"

He eyed her levelly. "Then fire them."

"I can't! I can't just fire people because they're complete—"

"Okay, I understand." Her glare didn't relent. "I'm sorry," he tried.

She sighed and took a step forward, away from the door, and buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her comfortingly. Somehow, this seemed like the best place to be at the moment.

Suddenly, the door to her office burst open and slammed the wall with a bang. They both stiffened slightly, but otherwise didn't move.

"Yes?" Arthur drew out the word uninvitingly.

Obviously, it was no one of importance. Joan began to shift her weight in order to take a step backwards, but her husband's arms still encircled her. She settled for turning in his arms so that her back was to his chest and her head was tucked just underneath his chin.

As she turned, the thought flitted quickly through her mind that, had she not moved away from the door when she had, said door would have slammed into her. Then the unfortunate shmuck that had the distinct misfortune to have entered her office really would have had it coming to him.

Or them, as it turned out.

Stephanie and Brad stood standing in her doorway, flustered and wide eyed. Brad wore a headset, which, combined with his other features, made him look rather like a large insect. Their eyes flitted from Joan's face to Arthur's and back about a dozen times in two seconds.

"Yes?" Joan asked, the length and tone of her voice perfectly matching her husband's. She rested her head back.

"Um I we they said uh…" Brad pronounced each word disjointedly and confusedly, before he trailed off in embarrassment, eying his bosses' embrace.

She raised her eyebrows.

"Auggie said that Annie and Sarai are in place," Stephanie murmured, flushing.

"Okay," said Joan impassively. The other two fled.

"Great," murmured Arthur into her hair, "They aren't going to survive their first mission."

"Really," she drew out the word sarcastically. "What could possibly have given you that idea?"

He sighed. "Just... Give them a few more days. I'll see what I can do."

"Very well." Joan gently disengaged herself from Arthur's grasp and turned to him. "The file you came for is in the top drawer of that" she pointed to the left "cabinet. Please do take it off my hands."

He eyed her quizzically. "How-"

"-Did I know that you came for a file instead of just to 'see how things were going?'"

He had the grace to look embarrassed.

"Men." She shook her head with a almost imperceptible smile and strode from her office, wondering what fascinating experience might await her next in this satirical play. She wondered whether it would turn out to be a comedy or tragedy.

As she passed through the room, she noted Enrick and Omar, eating a snack and talking boisterously at a small table. Enrick, with his back to Joan, appeared to be telling a story, accompanied by various wild hand gestures and loud, amusing remarks. Then Omar saw Joan, and promptly began to choke on a Dorito. Enrick froze mid-word and turned, terrified, around. As Omar coughed violently, Enrick quickly turned around and quietly began eating again, as if he were a small animal pretending she couldn't see him.

She continued down the hall, listening to the hacking noises fading into the distance.

Honestly, what was she? Voldemort?


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! I truly appreciate every one of them. This is the final chapter. Yes, I am fickle but I AM resolved that this TRULY is the last chapter of an intended short one-shot that spiraled out of control._

_Again, thanks! If anyone has suggestions for improvement, I'd certainly be happy to hear them._

* * *

><p>Joan strode to Auggie's room, fuming inwardly. Since when was it acceptable to just barge in a private office? She and Arthur might have been discussing secrets or, well, embracing each other tightly.<p>

The tiniest part of her conscious, however, remembered Stephanie and Brad's expressions of chagrin with a hint of smugness. Maybe even enjoyment. Not that she would admit that even to herself.

Really, though, there was no excuse of "inexperience" to justify not knocking on someone's door before barging in. Where were their kindergarten teachers? More importantly, what happened to their parents?

Joan greeted Auggie and settled into a chair. She watched Annie and Sarai from a hacked surveillance feed as they chatted like old friends in a lobby on the ground floor of the Dallas hotel. Occasionally, Annie would move her hand to her face, to scratch her forehead or pull her hair out of her eyes. Each time she did so, a tiny camera embedded in her ring would snap a high-resolution photo of the building's entrance and anyone using said entrance. Hopefully, Annie had been right about the wiretap. If she was, their suspected terrorist had arranged a meeting that day and they could nab any associates.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. _Joan moved her head slightly in annoyance. Kevin was tapping his fingers on his computer again. _Tap. Tappity-tap-tap. _

Lovely. He was improvising new rhythms. What a budding musician.

Annie scratched her ear and Joan's gaze flitted over to the entrance. She caught her breath.

_Tap._

She knew that she recognized the man stepping through the doorway. Separated by more than a thousand miles, Joan squinted at the image, heart pounding. She _knew _him, and for some reason, it seemed critically important that she remember where.

_Tap. Tap._

She gritted her teeth. Where had she met him? There was a flash of red hair in the faint memory that swept across her mind. It was her own hair, she remembered. And then the sensation of bright sunshine—

_Tap._

Joan shook her head to clear it. The sunshine—

_Tap. Tappity-tap._

This was ridiculous. Kevin needed to stop or she just might have to hide his body in a dark alley. She could ask him to stop, but that just seemed petty and degrading for some reason.

_Tap._

She strove in vain to recover the fleeting thought. The red hair, whipped by the wind across her face and the sunlight beating down… And drunk Germans, she remembered, there were a lot of drunk Germans.

_Tap-tap-tap-tappitty-tappitty-tap—_

That _did _it!

"Will you stop that?" she snapped with outward irritation that was extremely uncharacteristic.

Kevin jumped and dropped his hands into his lap, flushing and muttering. Annie and Sarai flinched. Auggie blinked rapidly and turned his sightless eyes in Joan's direction with an intensity that made it seem as though he could truly see her.

"Are you okay?" he asked calmly.

If Joan were the type of person to blush, she'd be about as red as a cherry. "Yes," she murmured disgustedly. Where was her self-control today?

"A word to the wise," Auggie said mildly to Kevin, "Don't distract people who are directing a mission. Or Joan, in general. Don't annoy her ever or you might find yourself missing a limb."

"Shut up, Auggie," Joan demanded without any real force, thoroughly irritated with herself.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, falsely contrite.

The red hair, the sun, the drunken Germans…An outdoor café in the heart of Berlin. The man, she remembered suddenly with surprising clarity, was a German national she'd worked with while she was the station chief in Berlin.

He was also a spy.

Which was a problem.

"Get out," Joan ordered quietly but intensely, "get out _now_."

A single startled glance passed between the two field operatives before they quickly acquiesced. Auggie was already moving up the transportation schedule and coordinating with another department. Only Kevin was foolish—or perhaps naïve—enough to argue.

"Why?" he demanded.

Joan turned to him in shock. "Excuse me?"

He stubbornly held his ground, "The operation is going fine!"

"Perhaps you've missed the memo, Kevin," Auggie gritted out as he continued multi-tasking, "but she outranks you. Now get over here and patch this notice through the main lines because for some reason, I can't seem to see all that well today."

Joan watched Kevin scuttle to do Auggie's bidding, and felt a touch of embarrassment. Auggie was so patient, even after working with the irritating blonde man for a full day already. She took a deep breath, "The reason we need to get out," she explained as patiently as she could, "is that one of the men who just entered is MI-6. Now, he shouldn't be on our soil, but we _really_ shouldn't be on our soil. You don't want your enemy to have leverage against you. We'll send a tip to counterintelligence, they'll source to the FBI and that'll be it."

Kevin nodded sharply, too proud to look her in the face.

Sarai, jogging alongside Annie down a faraway sidewalk couldn't help but join the conversation, "Won't CI ask how we know?"

"No," responded Joan, watching the GPS feed in Annie's phone travel steadily down the street, "They would rather not know."

Several moments passed in relative silence. Annie and Sarai had cleared the area and were speeding away in a chartered taxi.

Joan took advantage of the moment to collect her thoughts. She needed to take control of the situations around her and she needed to do so immediately. No more visible irritation. No more overheard conversations in offices or bathroom stalls. No more permitting disrespect and disagreements.

Infuriatingly enough, the line between let's-be-patient-and-accommodating-for-the-brand-new-employees and you-are-so-out-of-bounds-here-that-it's-ridiculous wasn't as clear as convenience might dictate.

She left Auggie's office and returned to her own, completing some badly-behind work that had been neglected throughout the course of the day.

Some time later, her stomach twisted hungrily, disrupting her concentration as she read through masses of information. She realized suddenly that it was already ten at night. Peering out of her office, she noticed the dimmed lights of the main room and the steady beam still emanating from underneath Auggie's door.

On cue, the sound of running feet skittered through the silence, and Kevin almost smashed into the door in his excitement. Throwing open Joan's door so violently—he too neglected to knock—that the hinges rattled, he babbled almost incoherently.

"Annie, Sarai! They got caught!"

With only a blink to belie her calm façade, she followed quickly after him.

"What happened?" she demanded crisply as she entered Auggie's office.

"I am not sure," he responded, seeming to be everywhere at once as he typed a short note on his computer, spun around to send a fax, spoke to ground support in the area, and traced out possible extraction methods.

"What are we gonna do?" panicked Kevin.

Joan shot him a look.

Auggie continued, "They got picked up by the local police as they approached the airport. My best guess?" He cocked his head slightly to the side, "Information got leaked. Maybe…" he hesitated, "Your MI-6 man?"

"Very well," Joan replied, sitting down in the only other chair and ignoring the not-so-subtle throat clearings made by Kevin to illustrate that she was sitting in _his_ chair.

Sarai and Annie were led to separate holding cells. Auggie, with casual finesse, hacked the monitors that led into each room.

Sarai refused to say a word. She clamped her lips together tightly and asked for a lawyer.

"Good girl," murmured Joan, turning then to watch Annie, who responded to her interrogator's questions with so many of her own that she irritated the man enough to make him storm out of the room.

"They can't keep this up for long," warned Auggie. "The cops will dig up files or post information or… something, and we'll be blown sky-high."

"I know," said Joan quietly, watching the screens intently, "I want to try something…"

"What are you planning?" asked Auggie in a voice so suspicious it was almost sing-songy.

"Get me whoever is in charge down there," she nodded towards the screens with her head, then recollected herself, "I mean, down in that police station," she amended her statement as his sightless eyes glanced warily in her direction.

"Okay," Auggie huffed a sigh.

"And hurry."

"Yes ma'am."

In moments, the chief of police was glaring bad-temperedly at Joan. "Yes?" he, a dark-haired, clean-shaven man of about forty years, asked, stifling a yawn.

"Good evening," she said politely.

"You too," he muttered disinterestedly. "Can I help you?"

"Yes. I need the two women in holding cells 57 and 63 to be released immediately." She finished with a courteous smile.

"Not a chance," he responded with a contemptuous sneer.

"It is a matter of national security, sir." She kept her polite smile. "In the interest of cooperation between law enforcement agencies, will you please consider releasing them for the public good?" her voice was more than civil, yet there was a hint of determination and undeniable will behind it.

His answer did not bear repeating. When he finished his long string of abuse and profanity, Joan shut her eyes briefly.

"Kevin," she asked suddenly, "Would you please go to Arthur's office and ask him for the file 37728190?"

"Uh, Arthur Campbell?" he asked, taken aback by the request.

"Yes."

"Uh, can I wait until this is over?"

"No. I need it now," she said flatly without looking at him.

Kevin looked as if he were considering mutiny. "Yes _ma'am_," he muttered under his breath as he left, slamming the door behind him.

A beat later, he popped back in, "What was that number?"

"37728190."

There was silence. "Uh, maybe I could get like a pencil and write this down-"

"Just say that Joan's looking for a file. He'll know." She cut him off and waved a dismissive hand at the door.

Kevin vanished.

"Perhaps I wasn't clear enough, sir," she began again, facing the screen. She spoke quickly and never once took her eyes away from his. By the time Kevin returned, ten minutes later and file in hand, the Dallas police chief had lost all of his arrogance and was several skin tones lighter. His eyes were a little wild and his fingers trembled as he picked up his phone and ordered the two women released.

"I appreciate this," Joan thanked him silkily.

He swallowed and nodded mutely before quickly terminating the connection.

Kevin stared at Joan. "How'd you convince him?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Joan eyed her new operative, one hand on her hip, "I don't think you want to know," she said flatly.

His eyes flicked to Auggie, but he said nothing.

"Why don't you go home?" Joan suggested. "It's late."

"Okay," he said, turning to leave. His voice held none of his earlier bravado.

"I do need that file, though," she reminded him of the stapled manila file he clutched in his hand.

"Oh, uh, right," he pushed it into her hands without looking at her and left.

Auggie smirked as the door shut.

"Yes?" Joan drawled.

"I can just hear the wheels spinning in his head."

"Oh?"

"You scared him. He thought he had you pegged, and now he doesn't know what to think."

She chuckled softly, "I don't think he put that much thought into it, Auggie."

"Hey, this guy," he leaned back in his chair and pointed at himself, "was the one who had to spend a whole day with him. _More_ than a day, actually, thanks to my congenial boss. I think I get to call what he's thinking."

She pressed her palms against the desk and leaned on them. "Is that so?"

"Yes," he replied emphatically, "It was an _adventure_."

"Thank you, Auggie," she said sincerely.

He waved a hand dismissively, "No problem. He's a good guy. He just… needs to be taken down a few notches."

"You think he'll fit in?"

"Yeah. Someday. I mean, I gotta admit, I really dislike training new recruits. Don't get me wrong," he added suddenly, "I understand that we all were there once, we gotta start somewhere, and so on. But _really_. The gossip, the whining, the utter cluelessness, the egos, the endless comparing of bosses and coworkers, the mob mentality… It never ends."

She smiled. "That's what I complained about all morning."

"Really?" he sounded surprised, "Just in the morning?"

"Well, no… I saw how nice you were to them and felt bad about my cynicism. But now to hear you off on a tangent…"

"Tragedy. Don't let my jaded opinions influence you," he replied drily.

She shook her head, smiling, "Good night."

"'Night, Joan."

As she strode away, she could hear him whistling a tune as he turned off his computer for the night. Upon passing through the main room, a flash of light caught her eye. On the floor beside her feet, reflecting the dim light from Auggie's office, lay Conner's admittance badge.

She retrieved it, shaking her head. He did know he needed this insignificant-seeming piece of plastic to enter the building in the morning, yes?

Strongly tempted for an instant to hide the badge where it would never be found, thereby ridding herself at least temporarily of a nuisance, she dropped it off at the deserted security desk and let herself out the front doors.

Very few cars remained in the lot. Arthur's was gone. Annie's remained at the far end of the left parking lot. She and Sarai—poor girls—wouldn't arrive in DC until six the next morning. In the visitor section, one vehicle remained.

She froze in the dark night as she noted a figure sitting inside the car. A moment later, she realized who it was.

Kevin sat hunched over in the driver's seat, with his face upon the steering wheel. He was a ways away from Joan, but not far enough to hide the fact that he was crying.

Well really! After the indignities and inconveniences and embarrassments he had inflicted upon her in the course of a single day! And he was the one crying.

Yet he looked so hopeless and miserable.

She stifled a groan. Taking a half step in his direction, she paused. Perhaps it was best to let him alone tonight. He wouldn't appreciate seeing her. Especially not after a day like today.

With one final glance at his shaking body, she continued towards her car. Maybe he had learned his lesson. Maybe tomorrow he would figure out how to behave. Her stomach twisted in reluctant pity.

Her foot skidded slightly as it encountered an object lying upon the asphalt. She picked up said object.

Brad's admittance badge.

There was only one thing she could think at that moment.

Why me?

* * *

><p>The sun shone brilliantly down upon the CIA headquarters in Langley, VA, brightening the spirits of all who saw it. The same sun, however, did not work its magic upon one Joan Campbell. She'd spent a good half of her morning returning admittance badges, smoothing over internal crises, and generally playing the babysitter of the DPD.<p>

And she was not happy.

"Not happy" was in fact an egregious understatement.

She had had the wonderful privilege of speaking with each new officer individually in her office for the purposes of filling out a form that really could have been handled by someone else.

_Any_one else.

And the experience had been _miserable_.

Her veteran officers knew the warning signs and stayed far, far away from her office. They averted their eyes as she stalked past, and avoided speaking with her unless it was absolutely imperative.

The new employees noticed the department's change in mood from the previous day. It was now foreboding, as if an unstoppable calamity were about to occur.

Joan stood in a little nook at the back of the break room, pouring herself a cup of lukewarm coffee. Starbuck's line had been about twenty people long all morning, and she could no longer put off the necessary jolt of caffeine.

"Really?"

Brad's voice drifted to her ears from the main break room.

"You think?" Erik asked in disbelief.

This couldn't be happening again… Joan set down her coffee and rubbed her already aching eyes.

"I really do. I could see it in her eyes," a voice that was unmistakably Kevin's grated in her ears.

"Whoa," said Brad.

There was the sound of light footsteps. "What's going on?" Stephanie asked.

Kevin muttered something and Brad snickered. Joan didn't need to know exactly what was said to get the gist of the message.

She had come to work resolved to put an end to the foolishness of the past day. And, whatever the cost, she _would_ do so.

Stepping out of the nook and calmly stirring her coffee, she eyed the little group standing next to the door. Kevin and Brad had their backs to her, while Stephanie and Enrick completed the little circle, focusing so intently on their coworkers that they never noticed their boss step into view. Joan, about to walk past them and out the door, was utterly unprepared for what happened next.

"Kevin thinks Joan's in love with Auggie," smirked Brad.

Would they never learn? Her first reaction was anger. Her second was the urge to burst out laughing. The combination of both emotions resulted in an unladylike snort.

"I'm sorry," she said, unable to hide the amusement in her voice, "Do you have my department confused with high school?"

Kevin and Brad whirled around and all four gaped in shock.

Surprising even herself, she spoke gently, "I'm sick of running into gossip every time I turn the corner. Save it for when you aren't on the clock."

They gaped.

"Do you understand me?" she prodded.

Two managed to clamp their mouths shut, and all nodded weakly.

"Then get back to work."

They gaped.

"And when I say 'work' I mean _work._"

They gaped.

"Go," she said emphatically.

They fled.

Joan happily strode back to her office, coffee in hand.


End file.
